In Memoriam
by Nemofishy
Summary: "Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing." A collection of short drabbles. Mostly Solavellan throughout the game. Will be marked as complete, and updated at least every other week or so.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is just some drabble prompt from tumblr. I don't know, I may add in more later on? I had some ideas of my own. If I do, it might span the length of the game, but I doubt it'll get that far. xD My Inquistor's name is Thema, since I love me some Egyptian names. If I do make more drabbles, it won't be in an even timeline. One can be at the end of the game, while the next can be in the middle or beginning.

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><p>Her feet are sore and her hands calloused, dirt beneath her nails from a long days work of planting the elfroot in the garden with the sun blazing down all morning. It was the first day in a long time where she simply wandered about Skyhold in silence, without the ever present need to be out and about, saving this and that, killing him or her or that thing spitting acid at the farmer's cows. The sun is setting over the mountains, coloring the sky in oranges and pinks, the slightest yellows. It reminds her of the fresco in the rotunda, and it's almost second nature, the way her body turns and begins to walk in that direction without even hesitating.<p>

She is humming as she walks through the halls, as passes Varric with a lazy wave and a wink, and even as she opens the door and it gives that horrible screech to announce her presence. Lavellan feels that ever familiar smile light up her features, even caked in dirt, and her lips begin to form around her greeting, "_Haren—"_

He's in the middle of the rotunda, smudged in an array of colored paint, and he's holding himself up with such careful precision, shifting muscles and even, smooth breaths. He is without a shirt, skin pale and unusually broad shoulders for an elf, something that makes her cheeks burn red and her fingers curl awkwardly in her dirty shirt. She tries not to ogle, honestly, but it's a hard thing to accomplish, especially since the older elf failed to even acknowledge her yet. So she takes her time, watching intently the way muscles tighten beneath his skin like a taunt chord pulled tight, and the graceful movement of his hips as he shifts weight to one foot or the other. He looks almost as though he were dancing, except the movements were careful and firm, training each muscle with one sure move of his limbs.

Up above, where the crows caw obnoxiously loud, she hears an unmistakable chuckle, and Dorian's head peeks out over the railing long enough for her to glower at him. _Of course he's watching_, she thinks, _he's probably enjoying this as much as I am._

"Inquisitor," she freezes at the sound of Solas's voice. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that staring is impolite?"

He's not even looking her way, but there's a certain warmth to his voice that tickles her spine. "No, but I will gladly take any punishment you have in mind for the offense." It comes out so fast, so unexpected, that she has to slap a hand over her mouth to keep in her gasp of surprise. _Spending too much time with Dorian, you twit. Look at his ears – they're red! You've done it now, Lavellan. _Despite her worries, she hears laughter again, except this time it's sweeter, tender, and more valuable to her than gold.

Solas's eyes crinkle at the corners the way she adores, lips quirking into a smile. She sucks in a breath, and curls her fingers into each other. "Come, _Vhenan_. I want to show you something."

As soon as she takes his hand, she is lost in daydreams as he begins to touch her, innocently guiding her body to the measured movements of the exercise he was just practicing. She hates to admit that she's more focused on his touch or each graceful sway of his body to really pay attention to what he's saying. He's telling her about this being relaxing, but it's not the words so much as the voice she pays attention to. She'll blame it on her exhaustion as she curls into bed at night, like a cat who had sat out in the heat for too long and swats at a mouse but can't get up enough energy to give chase. She feels like that at this moment, covered in dirt and sweat; She feels as though she earned the right to at least be entranced by Solas just for one day and not feel like an idiot for it.

But eventually, to her dismay, he moves to stand by himself and leaves her to her own mechanisms and clumsy body. She knows she's supposed to watch and learn, do as he's doing, but she's caught up again at the very sight of him, too distracted by the muscles on his back to notice she's stepping with her left and not her right foot, and then she's _falling._

His name is on her lips in a humorous squawk, so loud that it startles the crows up in the rafters and sends them into a frenzy and Dorian into a cursing fit. Solas turns and scrambles to catch her, but even with his finesse and swiftness, gravity is stronger and pulls them both down painfully onto the floor. Thankfully, he was quick enough to keep her from knocking her head too hard on the stone, but there will be a bump, she is sure of it. She hears herself whimper, her head spinning and she's seeing pigeons fluttering above Solas' head and poking with their beaks like protecting an egg—

He's above her, pressed against her side in a way that might've seemed inappropriate if someone were to walk in on them right at that very moment. He's cradling her head and gently soothing the tender area with his fingers.

_Definitely a bump._

He's chuckling then, fondly; "You would have put all the elves of Arlathan to shame with your grace, Vhenan."

Her head is throbbing, but she manages to smile up at him, more so when she feels the soothing touch of healing magic. Her smile, though, seems near delirious. There's a burst of color around the curve of Solas's ear that catches her attention though, bright with yellows and blues. She suspects he must've scratched it while pondering his art, and she near laughes at the sight of it, reaching up to trace the pointed ear affectionately. His gaze softens and she swears she can feel his heart through his chest pick up, but then again, she always had an over active imagination. "The elves of Arlathan never had anyone to catch the clumsy ones of their time – but I have _you_. Of course they wouldn't stand a chance against my pure poise and dignity when you are watching out for me."

He chuckles, perhaps a bit quieter this time and she fears it's something she said, but by then it's too late to ask as he's pulling her up from the floor and wiping off some mud that must've been sitting on the bottom of her chin.

"Again, ma sa'lath? I promise I will try to pay attention this time."

"Do not make promises you cannot keep, _lethallan_. It's unbecoming of you."

Despite the sternness of his voice on his last remark, despite the amusement crinkling at the corners of his eyes, he falls back into an elegant stance again to which she attempts to mimic. She gets distracted more than once as the hours go by; Solas, himself, is caught glancing one too many times in her direction, much to her delight.

Later that day, with a heaping plate of food in front of her face that makes her drool, Dorian kicks her shin from under the dining table with a smirk plastered on his face.

"You totally did that on purpose, you little minx."

She grins and touches the still sore bump on her head. "It was worth it."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Takes places around the first Fade kiss? Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, I reread it twice, so if there's any mistakes it's probably because my brain plays tricks on me. Also, Varric does call Thema with the nickname Sunshine because a) she laughs too much, she's a dork, and b) I am terrible at nicknames. If anyone has a prompt they'd like to give, you could put it in the comments/reviews. If not, might as well enjoy these random drabbles.

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><p>"No. Absolutely not."<p>

Solas had anticipated something like this would happen today. The Inquisitor continued to surprise him, so he tried to always expect the unexpected. It was simply easier that way, and perhaps he wouldn't be left speechless each time it happened like a new born whelp—

Which brings Solas back to here and now, to the faint sound of scuffling and whimpers, to the red-headed Inquisitor bending down to look into a small opening within the rock face; too tiny for a bear, thankfully, but big enough, it seems, to have housed a wolf mother and her infant.

Sadly, it appeared the mother had died quite some time ago, if the smell was anything to go by, from a nasty looking wound on her neck. The pup, whining, continued to paw at its dead mother, as if at any moment, she would come back to life. Solas could not help but feel pity for it, for without its mother, the pup would surely die. The kinship he felt to this creature, however, was brief. This was the way of life; some things died unfairly, and usually for a reason, thought it wasn't always clear as to why. To wish for this fact of life to change would be like wishing for the wind to only ever blow north.

"I know what you're thinking Thema, and I will not stand for it. We cannot take a wolf back to Skyhold!"

"Oh come on, Seeker, look at the thing. He's harmless, and I'm sure Sunshine knows what she's doing." Varric, of course, argues back to the obviously irritated woman. It's almost as if the two couldn't go a day without disagreeing on something. He's begun to wonder if it was intentional.

With a vaguely annoyed sigh, Solas glanced back over toward the kneeling woman.

"Thank you, Varric." The smile she shot the dwarf was disarmingly charming, even with her sharp features that others may not often find attractive upon first meeting. "Besides, Cassandra, I haven't even said anything."

"No," grumbles the Seeker, "but I know you."

As much as Solas would like to believe that Thema would leave the pup where he lay, he knew her better than that. When the Inquisitor takes another small move forward, he hears Cassandra beside him suck in a breath of disapproval. Before she could speak again, he kneels down beside the other elf and puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her, to quell any thoughts that were surely racing through her head.

Though he could not claim to know her inside and out (he highly doubts that even if he knew her for centuries, she would still be a mystery to him. The golden vallaslin of Dirthamen that tarnishes her face are morbidly accurate), but what he does know of her is enough to tell him that she has an unyielding compassion for the weak—even to those who do not deserve it—and this little _fen _was no different.

He can see that familiar pinch in her brow, her teeth worrying her lip, and the amber of her eyes soften so considerably that Solas almost gave in and let her do as she pleased, damn the consequences, but he steeled himself.

"The wound looks to be from a bear; it must have seen something it wanted on their territory and chased the she-wolf and her pup out. If she has a mate, he very well may be gone as well. And even if he isn't..." His gaze wandered to the simpering mess of an animal on the floor with faint pity. Wolves were loyal pack members, but there were often times where they cut off the weak if it meant ensuring the survival of the whole. The pup, without a mother, would weigh the father down. There was no guarantee he would come back for his child.

"Then why can't we care for it?" She looks at him then, imploringly, as if his opinion is the only opinion that matters.

"It would be moronic. You cannot tame a beast. There's always a chance it will bite the hand the feeds it, even if obedient."

"Then I will take that chance." Her eyes set, her mouth pursuing into a grim line of determination as she glared up at Cassandra. Solas exhaled heavily, earning both of their attention.

"Lethallan," he starts, cautiously as to not upset her, "It would not be wise, or even fair. You would be taking him away from the only world he's ever known—from instinct and its true nature. Cassandra is right: you can give it a name and even a leash, but that does not make it tame. It would be kinder in the long run, to let nature run its course."

He can appreciate the wolf mother for providing safety for her pup even at the brink of death, however. It is a strength of will to live up to. But to take the pup now would be damning it. It would have to strive to life up to the expectations of those around him, mainly that it should be obedient and harmless except to those who wish to do harm onto them. When it's wild nature took control, and there isn't a doubt in Solas' mind that it will, people would point fingers and demand recompose for the wolf to be killed and skinned. He did not want that blame and agony placed on Thema's shoulders, considering how attached he knows she'll become to the animal.

After a moment of silence, she finally stands with a solemn expression. If one looked as closely as Solas did, they would see the hidden gleam of disappointment in her eyes. "Fine," she breathes out, like something was weighing heavily on her chest and she couldn't get in enough air. Guilt, perhaps. "I will leave him to die then, if that's what you all feel is best."

No one says anything in return, much to her obvious disappointment, once more turning to walk forward with her shoulders slumped and her ears drooping. It's fairly obvious that she's using guilt as a means to persuade them, much to Solas's amusement. But with their silence, her scowl deepens into defeat and she turns to hide her disappointment by glaring at the misty mountains to their right.

To be honest, Solas finds himself surprised that Varric hadn't given in, but from one look at the dwarf, he can see why. Cassandra was glaring daggers at his back.

Their trek continues, off to some caverns where some rogue mages have been harassing a neighboring town, but it's not even thirty minutes in when she halts abruptly, near smacking Solas in the head with her staff as she turns around to face them, frantically.

"What is it?" Cassandra quickly asks, alert.

The Inquisitor seems to be searching around for something in the pockets of her robes, seeming genuine in her panic. It was the way her eyes widened and her breathing picked up in distress that proved it so, but still... Solas narrowed his eyes.

"You didn't happen to drop something by chance, Inquisitor?"

She looks at him with a scathing gaze that he may have laughed, if it weren't for the fact that Cassandra—and possibly Varric, Solas wasn't entirely sure with him—seemed to believe her little ploy.

"I must have dropped our coin purse when I was kneeling down. I have to go back."

"We'll waste time going back for a few measly coins. It is nearly sun set, and I would rather we at least achieve _some _progress before we camp."

"Those _'measly'_ coins pay for your smutty books!"

"They do not!" gasped Cassandra, with her cheeks burning red.

Before an argument could break out, Varric cleared his throat. "We'll go set up camp while you go back and get your dirty money, Sunshine."

With a thankful nod, she sets off from whence they came, and much to Solas's disapproval and faint amusement, sticks her tongue out at Cassandra as she passes. He hopes that his suspicion is wrong and that she's telling the truth, but the way she picks up speed once passed the tree line tells him otherwise.

About an hour later, she comes stomping back, leaves in her hair and dirt smearing her chin. Solas tries to think nothing over it, and instead focuses solely on making sure his tent doesn't fall down on him and Varric during the night. But then, right at the moment the silence deepens, a yelp sounds, and then whimpers, from the Inquisitor's pack that stills everyone from their tasks.

"You didn't." Cassandra's practically shaking with frustration.

Thema laughs, distracting herself by pulling a leaf from her fiery hair and feigning innocence, rather poorly Solas noted. "It was my stomach—"

The bag yelps again, and moves in the dirt where she had rested it, and then, finally, something furry pokes it head out.

Quickly, before the Seeker could speak, Thema speaks, "I will care for him, at least until he is old enough."

Solas shakes his head. "Then he won't survive on his own. Who will teach him to hunt, to fight? No wolf would take in another that will be so domesticated."

Varric, from where he sat by the growing fire, sighs reluctantly. "He's right, Sunshine, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Why are we still even discussing this? We cannot have a wild animal running about Skyhold."

To hope that she would give in to defeat would be too much to ask for. Much like the wolf mother, Thema's determination was quite resilient.

"The mabari master back at Skyhold can take him in. If anything, they can teach him how to hunt and fight even better."

"And if it doesn't work?"

Again, Solas has to call upon all his will when she looks at him, eyes blazing. "Then I will keep him even then. I'll find another way. Even when his fur goes grey and his eyes lose sight, I will keep him. I'll take responsibility, but I'm not leaving him to die." Her arms crossed and she grits her jaw, her eyes near as scorching as the camp fire. "And if any of you have a problem with it, in the not so elegant words of Sera, you can all shove it—"

"Very well." Cassandra cuts her off with red cheeks. "But he is not sleeping in the same tent as me."

"Scared of fleas, Lethallan?" teases Thema, her grin is so painfully devious that it could have put Sera to shame, if she were here.

"He can sleep in our tent." It wasn't ideal, but Solas could see that there was no changing her mind. When he glanced down at Varric, the dwarf simply shrugged like he didn't care either way.

"No different than sharing a tent with Hawke. He moved around so much I woke up with more bruises than roughing up a few idiots the next day."

Despite his disapproval of the situation, the smile she shoots their way is near blinding with joy, and for a moment, Solas lets himself enjoy the fact that he helped put it there. But this sense of contentment he feels doesn't entirely last as long as he wished it to, for the longer the night drags on, the more he finds himself regretting that he accepted this so easily.

The little pup is chewing through his robes, snarling and rolling about on the floor. The fire is lit and the pup's form casts monstrous shadows on the trees around them. Thema's giggling all the while, and even Cassandra's lips upturn into a small smile.

"He likes you, Solas."

Her voice is tingling with mirth, and her barely contained laughter pulls a snort from Varric. "Perhaps you were a wolf in another life, eh Chuckles?"

Solas shoots a glare at the dwarf, but is otherwise distracted by the small whelp that was playing tug-a-war with his robes. The Inquisitor doesn't help, but instead sits and watches with a fond smile that might have placated him, if it wasn't for the sound of fabric tearing. When the others excuse themselves to sleep, she finally moves over to sit beside him and scoops the growling ball of fur into her lap.

"I see that I will not be getting much sleep tonight," he sighs wretchedly, glaring at the creature where it peered at him coyly in her arms.

"Don't you worry, _ma falon_, I have a feeling the Fade will survive without you for one night." She's laughing now, eyes bright. If Solas didn't know any better, he would have thought her eyes to have been plucked from the last dying embers of a fire, bright and soulful. Beautiful, even if her laughter was directed mainly toward him. But she falls silent after she wipes at her eyes, and soon leans into him with a sly smirk on her face that nags at him. With her head on his shoulder, he can smell the lingering scent of pine needles that often accompanied her. It's a harmless position to find himself in, but her proximity is overwhelming even in its innocence, and so his muscles tense beneath her. He hadn't been so close to her since that one, brief moment in the Fade that he had been unable to forget. The feel of her hands on his chest, on his neck, her breath on his lips...

'_Take all the time you need...'_

With a deep intake of breath that makes his bones ache, he closes his eyes and tries to memorize this, the way her hair feels against this neck, the weight of her head on his shoulder—

And the pup that nuzzled at his empty hand for attention. He nearly growls at the little beast.

She laughs of course, the very sound of it calming his insides, and then the silence reigns again. But only for a moment long this time, hardly giving him time to savor anything...

"How about we name him Fen'Harel?" Her voice is playful, but the glance that cuts toward him and then back down to the wolf tells Solas that she is more serious than she lets on.

The numerous statues erected around the lands of the Great Dread Wolf has been nagging at the Inquisitor, he knows this simply because of the constant odd looks she shot at the stone wolves. One turn after the other, there's always more, and he wouldn't be able to explain it to her without letting her know more than she should—without letting her know more than he wanted her to know.

"You do not fear the Dread Wolf?"

"Of course I do, _Haren_." She says the term 'Haren' as if he should know that she fears _him _simply because he is her Haren. "What Dalish doesn't? But the name is fearsome, and filled with a sense of loneliness. It fits, in a way, though this _da'fen_ won't be lonely any longer."

He watches, thoughtfully, as she holds the pup closer the moment a cold breeze blows through the trees toward them and cools their skin. With a furrowed brow, he asks, "How so?"

"He lost his family, like the Dread Wolf. Certainly not in the same circumstances, but..." Her gaze became sympathetic, "It must be a terrible thing, to be so alone."

He finds himself snorting, even though she speaks a semblance of the truth, just to cover up the small flash of pain and surprise that flickers across his face. "You trust too easily, Lathallan."

"Maybe," she shrugs. "But I haven't been wrong yet."

"Yet." He reaffirms, feeling his teeth grit together.

"_Yet._" Her eyes heat up once more, this time with a raised brow and a tongue swiping out along her bottom lip in frustration, all sure signs that her temper was boiling at the surface. "This isn't your subtle way of telling me that I shouldn't trust you, is it Solas?"

"No," he breathes out quickly, thoughtlessly, "but even the Maker would turn on his people if given a reason. It is a thought worthy of consideration, for your sake."

She shakes her head, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Then it's his fault, if that were the case, not the peoples."

"I—What?" He glances down at her, just in time to see her swallow nervously, and with a trembling hand, scratch the animal that was slowly falling asleep in her lap behind the ear.

"Then it's the Maker's fault, just as it is Fen'Harel's. He may have thought he was doing some great trick, but truthfully, he was shutting away the ones who loved him most, took him in. They gave him a home, a name—" She is ignorant, and he cannot blame her for that. But even in her ignorance, she has found a truth that many of the Dalish have ignored, "—and he betrayed them for it. He is the cause of his own loneliness. He had their faith, and he crushed it."

He swallowed heavily, finds he cannot speak even as her voice sounds again, speaking of things she doesn't quite understand, and yet it fills him with guilt and sorrow all the same.

"Why would he purposely create his own suffering?"

He doesn't know how to answer her, at least not without telling her everything that he isn't ready to tell her. To tell her would mean to face her disappointment, her fear, her look of _betrayal_. It is selfish of him, to find contentment in her presence when she didn't even know who he truly was, selfish of him to want more and more no matter if he was trying his very best to resist his desires.

_I created my own suffering, and now I must endure as I always will._

The words are right on the tip of his tongue, but they burn his lips, seal them shut. The red-haired elf beside him, silent but thoughtful, makes a humming sound before she adds in a stronger voice that stills him. "I do not fear Fen'Harel for what he did, I fear him for what he represents. It is a frightening thought to know that even Gods are susceptible to betrayal, that they could trust someone so entirely only to have that trust broken. I don't trust easily, Solas, knowing that, but I do trust those who have my back in battle. And in my mind, it won't be my fault if any of you turn your back on me. I put my trust in all of you, my affection, and if someone throws that away, then it is not I who will suffer. Not the way the betrayer will."

She looks at him with a look then, as if waiting for a response, but he is speechless. He doesn't know the words to say to her that would convince her to believe otherwise, because she is right. He is the great betrayer, and in the end, he may very well do the same to her, _is _doing the same to her right at this very moment by keeping everything from her. The Gods may have deserved what had been done to them, but the knowledge that they still trusted him, viewed him as high council and took his advice without even the slightest hesitation when they had needed him... It was something he would have to live with, this burdened. Something he would have to endure for the rest of his long, miserable existence. Her perspective on this may be naive, but it is hopeful and compassionate in a way not many would understand.

"So, yes, I fear him but I pity him as well."

When she looks at him again, he is lost in the fire, in the past; the friends he hurt, the people he left behind, and all the _acceptable losses_. He hands close so tight that his knuckles turn white, and he doesn't even realize he's glaring at the fire until a thumb from a dirty hand reaches out to smooth the wrinkled lines of his forehead.

"Ire abelas, Solas. I didn't mean to upset you."

He turns to her, remorsefully, but his pride is too great, as it always is, to truly show how deep the pain is. "Do not apologize, Thema. You are right, he was foolish and prideful, and that will be his undoing in the end."

She nudges him with a small laugh, "You speak as if he is real and you know him personally."

_If you only knew, ma vhenan._

It is his turn to fall silent, to think and to be left to his poisonous thoughts. But though he has spent years forcing all these terrible thoughts to the back of his head, it's become increasingly more difficult, when all he's wanted recently was to tell someone of his troubles, for a shoulder to lean on and warm amber eyes to take him in comfortingly, without hate or the judgment her Dalish ancestors forced upon her.

A name comes to him soon after, a name from long ago of an old friend he met once in the Fade. He reaches over and strokes the pup on the ear, earning Thema's attention. "Estel." He meets her gaze, inhales deeply as he carries on, "It means hope."

She smiles that smile again, wide and full of warmth. "Estel," she nods confidently. "I like it."

Pride fills him, something hot, but it's different than before, different from the suffocating smoke of his past. It is the kind of pride one gets when making someone they care for happy, if only for a moment, and that makes all the difference.

With a soothing sigh, she shifts beside him and begins to stand, but not before leaning in and placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth, like a little secret he'd have to unlock in the months soon to come, before dancing away with Estel in her arms.

"But Inquisitor," he starts, the tips of his ears red and his mouth burning from her touch, "Cassandra—"

She cuts him off with a playful whisper, "Sleep well, Solas. Plant some flowers in the Fade for me tonight." She laughs again, a sound that is so often heard that he doesn't know what he'd do, if he never were to hear it again. As she disappears into her tent, leaving him alone, something delightfully tender and reckless crawls into his heart and makes itself at home. He is alone next to the camp fire, but not as alone as he was before. He has a rare and marvelous spirit to call his friend, and it is an overwhelming feeling that takes over his dreams at night.

When the night is dark and the fire is out, when it seems even the animals of the woods have fallen into a deep slumber, he wakes to the sound of Cassandra loudly telling off a whimpering pup and Thema's boisterous laughter. He falls back into the Fade again soon after with the corners of his lips curling into a smile.


End file.
